


Falling

by Cousin Shelley (CousinShelley)



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Canon Divergence, Codependency, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Kissing, M/M, Protective Siblings, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Incest, The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinShelley/pseuds/Cousin%20Shelley
Summary: Only one of them needs to die.
Relationships: Connor MacManus/Murphy MacManus
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: RelationShipping 2020





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowersforgraves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/gifts).



Connor was used to snapping out of sleep from a nightmare or thinking he heard a shout that faded as soon as he opened his eyes. Waking up was rarely a peaceful activity for him or Murphy. And like with everything, they usually did it together. 

A real shout woke Connor this time, not from a dream or something off in the distance, but a few feet in front of him. The agonized sound slammed into Connor at the same time some filthy motherfucker pulled him off the concrete floor by his hair, setting his scalp on fire, and slammed him into a chair. 

When he blinked his vision clear enough to see the sound was coming from Murphy, who was tied into a chair so tightly his hands were tinted blue, he bolted forward to grab him.

Huge hands clamped onto his shoulders and shoved him back into the chair. 

Connor shot up, already in a spin, and took the biggest one out with a headbutt to the mouth, but something slammed into the back of his skull. His vision turned watery. He didn’t know how many minutes passed until he was in the chair again, tied in place this time. 

A garage-style door was across the room. He had no idea what was behind him—maybe doors, maybe a concrete wall. And Murphy sat several feet in front of him, staring at Connor with a look both furious and resigned at the same time. A look that said _this might be it._

Something next to Murphy sparked, a burning smell filled the air, and a pale, tall man with a frizzy ponytail touched two wires to Murphy’s side. He screamed and jerked, and his chair clattered over with him in it. Two men dragged Murphy’s chair upright, and the ponytailed fucker zapped him again. 

Murphy screamed. Connor screamed his name and fought the ropes holding him in place. Someone held his chair, or he’d have toppled, too.

When it stopped, a voice from behind him said, “Boys, I hope you understand this isn’t personal.”

Connor recognized the voice. He’d heard it before, when he and Murphy had been ambushed and dragged from the bar. Doc and Romeo had been there somewhere, hadn’t they? No sign of them here.

“Feels pretty fucking personal to me,” Murphy said without lifting his head, his voice like ground glass. 

“Familial, not personal,” he voice said. “It’s Il Duce we want. You are but a means to an end.”

Murphy lifted his head and cocked an eye above Connor, probably at the bastard who was speaking. Then he met Connor’s gaze, and the corners of his mouth twitched up. “Il who?”

Ponytail pressed the wires to Murphy’s shoulder, punching a shout out of him. Connor roared at the bastard until the man with the voice stepped in front of him. 

He spoke about Il Duce, how he had a score to settle, but Connor tuned him out. He wasn’t Yakavetta, Connor realized. Beyond that he didn’t fucking care what family he came from or what woes their father might have caused.

Murphy’s left eye was nearly swollen shut, and blood dripped from his split bottom lip. Small black scorch marks covered his side, stomach and shoulders. Fuck the _who_ and _why_. The only thing Connor cared about in regards to the fuckers in this room was how he was going to kill each and every one of them. The rest didn’t matter. 

“Then kill me, and let him go,” Murphy said, staring at Connor, and that led him to put together what had been said right before while he was imagining choking the life out of the man with the ponytail. The man had said _only one of you really needs to die_. And Murphy had said—

“No!” Connor shouted.

Connor’s chair was tipped backwards at an angle, and he was dragged farther away from Murphy, while a big bastard with rolled up sleeves stepped in front of Murphy and drew back his fist. 

“No, _Murphy, no!_ ” He struggled against the ropes that held him in the chair, chafing off skin where he tried to tear his arms free. He looked at the man in charge with his overcoat and his bald head, and screamed, “Let him go! Take me, you son of a bitch!”

The sound of a fist making contact with Murphy’s face was like thunder in Connor’s brain. He screamed at the bald fuck, “Let my brother walk out of here. Right now, _right fucking now!_ ”

“Or what?” the man said, amusement in his voice, but he held up his hand and the man hitting Murphy paused. 

“ _Or I’ll chew a hole straight through your fucking chest, I swear to God_.”

The man smiled. “I would like to see you t—”

Something exploded behind Connor, doors being blasted open, he realized, then gunfire and its echo loud enough to hurt his ears. Whoever had been dragging him backwards dropped him and left him on his back, tied into the chair. He twisted to see the bald bastard was already running, and he and a handful of other men ran out the roll-up door without bothering to pull it down behind them.

Someone shouted in Spanish. _Romeo_ . It was fucking Romeo to their rescue. Connor caught _dead_ and _motherfuckers_ and something about spitting on a grave, but it was shouted over gunfire that drowned too much of it out. 

Blood splattered Connor’s face from the blown-out skull of one of the goons, and then he rocked himself onto his side and tried to get over onto his knees so he could scoot across the floor to where Murphy must have thrown himself over when the shooting started. 

_Jesus, please that be why he’s on his side._

“Murphy!” he shouted between bursts of gunfire. Murphy didn’t answer. 

A dead man fell between them. Connor screamed wordlessly at having his path blocked. 

_Answer me, answer me, answer me._ “Murphy!” 

A flash from when they were six ran through Connor’s mind. They’d decided to play hide and seek, and Murphy had been so good at hiding that Connor had looked for a half an hour unable to find him. Murphy had stayed hidden until Connor started screaming. He’d gone into a panic that he might never find his brother again and would have screamed his throat raw if Murphy hadn’t ran up to him, wide-eyed, looking as scared as Connor felt.

It was the last time they ever played that stupid fucking game. 

“Murphy, please!” he screamed, the same panic burning his throat. “Talk to me, brother!”

Though the distance between them was a matter of feet, every second Connor didn’t know if Murphy was okay was like a great black pit opening between them, bottomless and ready to swallow Connor alive. If anything happened to Murphy, Connor would never make it out. He’d spend the rest of his life falling, unable to hit the fucking bottom. The thought of even a second in this shitty world without Murphy sent panic kicking in his chest. 

He was struggling to crawl his way around the dead man when Romeo cut the ropes binding him to the chair. Connor bolted over the body, and grabbed Murphy by the back of the neck.

“Murph. _Murphy, fuck’s sake!_ ” He and Romeo lifted Murphy’s chair upright, and then Romeo cut Murphy free. Connor grabbed his brother’s face in both hands, rougher than he meant to in his panic. “You’d better fucking speak to me, right—”

“M’here,” Murphy mumbled without opening the one eye he probably still could. “S’ok.”

And it was, just like that. Connor clasped his hands behind Murphy’s neck and pressed their foreheads together. And the world was right for the split second of them sharing a breath and exhaling. 

Romeo shoved Connor’s shoulder. “Those fuckers might come back with reinforcements, you know.”

Connor threw one of Murphy’s arms over his shoulder, but Murphy couldn’t help much and was being dragged more than he walked. So Connor scooped his legs up and hauled his brother out of there.

* * *

Connor was ready to risk taking Murphy to a hospital. He wasn’t sure if what they’d done to him could cause any kind of damage, or if there might be a medicine or some kind of treatment his brother should get. Doc, who had come with Romeo as a backup to break the boys free, didn’t think a hospital was necessary, or worth the risk. 

“Don’t they shock crazy people _a_ - _as_ a treatment?” Doc had offered. Connor didn’t have an argument for that even though he felt like he should. It didn’t matter anyway, because Murphy refused to go.

They didn’t have any cash on them, what they had was stashed at their “hideout” at Doc’s bar, but Doc had pulled money out of his register before they came. He shoved it into Connor’s fist as soon as they were outside. 

“In case those b-b-bastards come looking for you again anytime soon. Pick a place where you can check in anon—anon—an—where you don’t have to tell ‘em who you are. Fuck!” he said, waving the three of them toward a car Romeo probably boosted. “Ass!”

Romeo announced he would stay with them as protection. Connor thought of about a dozen smart-assed comebacks to that idea, but he didn’t have the heart to even tease him like that, not now. 

Romeo had saved Murphy’s life. In doing that, he’d saved Connor’s, too. 

When they found a motel, Connor and Murphy hung back while Romeo paid for the room with some of Doc’s cash, no questions or ID necessary. The room had two tiny beds, a battered nightstand between them, and a plastic table with one metal folding chair. The dingy gray carpet held indents where some piece of furniture had once sat across the room from the beds, maybe with a TV before both were probably stolen. The tub and shower didn’t have a curtain, and the sink steadily dripped water into the rusty drain, but it was a roof over their heads where nobody should come looking. 

Connor put the folding chair into the bathtub. It didn’t sit level because the tub wasn’t quite wide enough for it, but it would do. Then he stripped himself and Murphy and made Murphy sit in it while he washed them both. They were going to sleep for a long time, and he didn’t want them to wake up to the stink of blood. 

They took one bed, naked and barely dry. Connor pulled Murphy close so that his head rested on Connor’s shoulder, and put his other arm around Murphy’s waist. He’d come so close to losing him, he could hardly stand the thought of even inches of empty space between them right now. Romeo showered and crawled into the other bed. 

He and Murphy slept for over eighteen hours, according to Romeo. Connor forced Murphy to drink three foam cups of water when they woke, then had to help him to the toilet because he thought it was all going to come back up. 

“Maybe you need the hospital after all,” Connor said as he held Murphy’s head above the toilet. 

“Fuck that, I’ll be fine.”

He sounded better, at least, and he managed to keep the water down. He fell asleep immediately when Connor got them back into the bed. Connor woke more often and lay there watching Murphy breathe, letting his own breaths fall into the same rhythm. Sometimes he smeared a generic first-aid gel Romeo bought onto the cut above Murphy’s eye and a tender place on the back of his own head. 

A couple of days passed this way. Connor ate a candy bar here and there when Romeo shoved one at him, insisting he eat whether he was hungry or not. Murphy occasionally woke to drink water and use the toilet before sleeping again.

The third day was better. Romeo left to get some real food, and Murphy drank a few cups of water without the wave of nausea that had gripped him before, even said he felt hungry. They used the dollar-store supplies Romeo bought on one of his trips out: a gritty no-name toothpaste that just said _FLUORIDE_ on the red and white box, and some barely blue mouthwash that tasted like pepperminty turpentine and made Connor’s eyes water. 

They took another shower, Murphy able to stand up for this one, and then got back into the bed since there was no other furniture in the room aside from the wet, probably rapidly rusting, chair in the tub. Murphy wanted a cigarette, which Connor took as a good sign, so he put the little glass ashtray from the nightstand on his stomach and they shared one between them. 

After that, just as they’d slept most of the last two days, Murphy pressed close to Connor, his temple against Connor’s shoulder and his forehead against his neck, their arms wrapped around each other. Even asleep Connor’s grip had never seemed to loosen, and he’d often woke with tingling forearms and fingers, numbness fading as he shifted a little and the circulation restarted. 

So many times he'd woken up with tingling hands after dreaming of the bald fuck whose face was burned into his brain, and whose heart he was going to eat one day for hurting his brother. 

As if reading his mind, Murphy said, “So you got a good look at his face, then?”

“I could pick the ugly fucker out of a crowd, yeah.”

“Think he’s on his way yet?”

“Da? Maybe. He might beat us to him.” Connor expected their father would come, that he already knew what had happened, what had almost happened, and would show up with vengeance on his mind any day now. On one hand, Connor liked the idea a lot. On the other hand, he wanted to be the one to send that bald fucker into the next realm and put pennies on his eyes. He owed that man a world of hurt, and he hated to think he’d never get to pay that debt. 

“Hey, Murph?”

“Yeah.”

“You ever pull some shite like that again, I’ll kill you myself.” His arms tightened around Murphy. 

“Shite like what?”

“ _Then kill me and let him go._ ”

“You did the same fucking thing!” Murphy pushed himself up to look down at him. “So it goes both ways, don’t it?”

Connor put a hand on the back of Murphy’s neck. “If there’s ever a next time, don’t you fucking dare, Murphy MacManus. Don’t you dare think you can leave me alone.”

Murphy dropped his forehead to Connor’s shoulder. “You think I wanted that? I just couldn’t bear the thought of them taking you and not me.”

“We go together then,” Connor said, kneading the back of Murphy’s neck. “Because if they kill you, they’ve already killed me anyhow.”

Murphy shifted against him in a way that, any other day, would have prompted Connor to roll them over and bite his way down Murphy’s body just to hear the noises he made. He wasn’t sure either of them was up to that. But he did lift Murphy’s face with fingers under his chin and softly drag his mouth across Murphy’s, careful not to set his split lip to bleeding again. 

Murphy didn’t seem to care if he bled, because he pressed into the kiss, his tongue sliding against Connor’s. Maybe he had more energy than he’d thought, because he was already half-hard with Murphy’s cock pressing into his hip, just as ready as his own. 

And that’s when Connor realized Romeo was standing in the doorway, holding a bag, a box and a drink carrier filled with cups. 

Fuck it. He didn’t flinch away or try to pretend they weren’t doing what they were doing. He kissed Murphy’s mouth one final time, and squinted in Romeo’s direction. “Didja bring something good?”

Romeo shrugged. “Donuts, coffee, and some cheeseburgers. Didn’t know whether you wanted breakfast or dinner.”

“All sounds great,” Murphy said, but he didn’t let go of Connor or move to sit up yet. Connor sank his fingers into Murphy’s hair and kept holding him close. Romeo put the food and coffee cups on the plastic table, said nothing, and Connor couldn’t stand the not-knowing. 

“So you’ve got nothin’ to say?”

Romeo kept his back to them, sipped from a cup and put it back in the carrier. “About you two kissin’?”

“Aye.”

He turned and looked Connor square in the eyes. “It’s not exactly a shock.”

“No?” He combed his fingers through the hair at Murphy’s neck and rubbed his bare shoulder with his other hand. 

“I ain’t ever seen two people as close as you, related or not. And you’ve spent the last two days practically crawling inside each other and mumblin’ each other’s names in your sleep. So no, not exactly a bombshell.”

Connor didn’t realize he’d said anything while asleep, but he wasn’t surprised given some of the dreams he’d had. “And it don't bother ya none?”

Romeo screwed up his face and shrugged. “Makes a weird kind of sense. It’s the two of you against the world, there for each other in every way, right? I ain’t got no problems with it. It’s almost kind of . . . touching, you know?”

Murphy lifted his head. “Jesus, are you gonna cry again?”

“No! Shut the fuck up.” Romeo tore open one of the bags.

“You’d cry if you caught us with our cocks out,” Murphy said with a breathy laugh.

Connor grunted. “Weep for joy at such an impressive sight.”

Romeo laughed. “Fuckers, I probably _would_ cry at the sight of your pathetic pencildicks. Shut up and eat.” He spun and threw a burger in their direction, which Connor caught with one hand. 

Romeo put their coffees, a few more burgers and the box of donuts on the battered table between the beds. Then he sat on his bed, legs outstretched, and slurped his coffee in a way that guaranteed Connor would want to put him in a headlock inside of ten minutes.

Connor and Murphy pushed themselves up to sit, their pillows between them and the scarred up wall, and took turns taking bites of the burger. Connor thought about errands he could make up later to get Romeo out of the room and then realized there was no point being coy about it. Romeo was going to assume they just wanted privacy anyway, so Connor would simply ask him to clear out for a while.

At least this time, when he came back, he’d probably knock. 


End file.
